


End of An Era

by Malice



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice/pseuds/Malice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victory comes at a heavy price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of An Era

There, it was finally done. The man let out a deep breath as he stared down at the scene before him. His eyes burned with fierce tears, but the heat that came from his very being evaporated them away. It had taken this long, these thousands of years. There had been so much doubt, so much pain, and how many times had he asked himself if he could even get to this point? Yet, here he was. Michael shifted over the fallen vessel that lingered upon the ground.  
Etched, well, scarred into the Earth was the most brilliant flawless silhouette of wings that would ever be seen; never to be seen again. He had destroyed one of his Father’s most glorious creations, because God had asked him to. The eldest arch angel stared down at the body, his eyes filled with sorrow. Michael let go of the hilt of his flaming sword. The weapon’s flames still licked along the human body that had been pressed into the ground with the sheer force of the final blow he had given. The archangel, wearier than he had ever been before, sunk to his knees. He rested there, beside the torso of his fallen comrade.  
“I am sorry, brother,” he said softly to deaf ears. “I’m so very sorry,” he muttered as flicks of steam came off of his face from where the tears tried to fall.  
A well of sudden anger erupted through him. He could not bear to see the sword still lodged within his kin’s chest. He ripped it from the corpse with a flourish. Curling his fingers against the cold angelic metal, he raised the weapon above the cadaver’s head. He set it a foot above the apex of his cranium before plunging the burning weapon within the earth. Never again would he wield that weapon. It was a vow he had taken many years ago. And now he would have to live up to those words he had spoken.  
Michael shifted upon his knees and his spine buckled forward. It was if, finally, after all these centuries he could finally let go. His hands went to his face as he wept. Leaning over the corpse he rested beside the broken and bloody form. His fingers rested upon the olive shirt, the fabric was still damp with his brother’s blood. There was just so much blood here. It littered the ground, Lucifer’s, his, it mingled and spread over the grasses slowly. He pressed his palms into Lucifer’s chest, looking to a face that would never show emotion again.  
“Why did it have to come to this brother,” he asked aloud, “Why did Father make us walk these paths? To what mean was this for?” he questioned in his grief.  
Michael reached out to the corpse brushing the warm blood off the body’s face. It was strange, how most forms would cool, but no…His corpse was heating up. It sickened him. This whole day made his vessel want to wretch. He had prayed, begged, for something besides this fate. He had struggled against this for ages. He had tried to delay, and delay, and delay this day. His greatest regret was that it had come to this. Father had given him a chance to keep Lucifer at bay. First the exile, then the Pit…Those tasks had been hard enough, but of course – his little brother had desired to be free. Who wouldn’t have?  
“Why would you not listen to me, brother!?” he said through his steaming tears, grasping the dusty shirt collar tight until the fabric threatened to tear. He peered at the eyelids of the vessel, knowing that the brilliance that it once housed was forever dashed from the universe.  
Lucifer had made the largest metamorphosis in angelic history. While his grace had been tarnished, in Michael’s opinion it had still somehow remained the most beautiful light. Lucifer’s true form had been a terrible and shimmering beauty that both amazed and sickened the eldest son. And through all of Lucifer’s transformation all Michael did was watch. He had tried to talk, to reason, to get Lucifer to come back to ‘his senses’ about the whole humanity situation. He had tried to warn him, that he would have to do this. He tried to express how deeply he did not want to follow these orders. All his pleas had seemed to have fallen out of reach.  
Michael had been a soldier for far too long. He had seen so much, done so much more, so much worse…than the atrocities that humanity had done to its own kind. How many of his siblings had he killed now? It had torn him inside to watch them fall by his blade. He had not been created for such viciousness; at least that was what he had told himself. He loved all his siblings, unconditionally, but he had shared such a deep connection with Lucifer. It was just one more reason as to why this was so hard upon the angel. The memories of better days had constantly replayed within his mind. He held onto the good days for so long. It ate away at him. He had just wanted his brother back. He wanted to go home, to know peace, to know happiness. Michael wanted to know something besides orders, besides duty.  
“I would have gone to the ends of space and time for you,” he said softly with a sigh. “…If you had only asked for forgiveness, to come home, brother.”  
If Lucifer had just changed his mind, but he knew that both of them were just too suborn for such talk. Michael and Lucifer were just so set in their ways it was dreadfully frightening. Still, he knew in his heart that if Lucifer had asked for forgiveness, to come home. More steam came from his face as the tears continued to evaporate away from his eyes. “If..If…if… If he had tried to come home….” he thought.  
“I would have stood by your side…I would have said no to Him. If only you…” he said as he swallowed his tears back down.  
Though he supposed now that his brother could be home…or at some sort of peace. A knot formed in Michael’s stomach and he cried out in anger. He swung his fist into the earth, hearing the ground shudder from the force of the punch. Fury that had been building sense the first war craved a release. Like a caged animal it fought him for control on a daily basis, and he had held it at bay. The fight would not be the ends of the Earth as humans knew it. Lucifer was not to have been the one to destroy most of God’s creation. He had to let it out or it would consume him, but if he did…Well what did it matter now?  
He had tried to dismiss the thought, but as his wings shimmered and shone in their own horrific glory…He knew now, his heart. It was he. He was the one that would destroy most of mankind. All the years of trying to fight for his Father’s creation, to support them, to aid them with whatever they needed; was to be undone by Lucifer’s death. The brilliance from the pairs along his back burned the ground, still, where Lucifer lay, the Earth was forever darkened. It would be forever scarred by angelic wings. His sorrowful gaze fell back upon the vessel’s face. How he longed to see Lucifer’s true form, but it was too late. It would only be a bittersweet memory.  
“Father,” the angel shouted to the sky above, his hands ablaze with shimmering white holy fire, “Is this truly what you wanted? Is this your divine plan?” he bellowed.  
His voce had deepened, rippled. The sound of his true vocal tones sent shivers through the very tectonic plates that he rested upon. The wave of his true voice sent shock waves out into the great distance. The volcano underneath Yellowstone National Park shuddered as the angelic presence caused it to stir. It was slowly beginning to awaken. Between the battle of the archangels and from Michael’s rage…It was going release much sooner than any mortal prediction. “My fault, all of this…”  
“I have done all that you have asked of me, and yet it still came to this…”  
Michael slowly stood to his feet. His vessel was breaking from the heat. Tissue, bone, blood – it all started to slowly burn away as he let himself be free. Eventually the vessel burned away completely. Shimmering in the dusky Detroit evening sky was a brilliant sun, shaped like a man. Fierce glimmering silver, red, and gold blazed and melded together until it burned white hot. The sheer presence of the archangel’s true form… The heat started to melt the earth and rock beneath his form. He looked down to his brother’s corpse, leaving that section untouched by him being there.  
The light grew, shifting, swirling, and pulsing with its own rhythm. Taller and taller the form rose, its feet soon leaving the ground. The massive wings stretched out further and further still. Light that radiated from the form blanketed over the town of Detroit. Any who looked upon the angel immediately felt the effects. Their eyes burned from their sockets and their blood stood still. An angel, in all its glory…Over a thousand feet tall, blinding, terrifying…If anything, if there was a soul that survived the sight oh they would find Faith. He gave a sad smile, Faith in what though? Faith in a Father that had left home, one who had guided two brothers…two best friends, to tear each other apart? Why would any soul have faith in that?  
Michael’s presence there was worse than any atomic blast that humans had ever seen, or would ever see. Plants, animals, humans, all extinguished in a wave of flame, and while he watched all of this he could not care. He tried, oh, how he tried to care about them. He tried to feel pity, remorse, pain, for their untimely deaths. He could not though. No. He had run out of that, run out of love for them. He had run out of patience. He could not care. His brother was dead and he had done it. He had done his duty and even yet he could not feel his Father’s presence. He could not sense him. He had done what he had been told and God had not even returned. What was this madness?  
If they had never existed…If they had never been created, and if God had never asked them to assist these creatures. He would have his brother. He would have his family. Peace. Michael took what looked like to be a shuddering breath and flapped his wings. Heat that radiated off of them marred the earth, leaving it unusable. Gasses within the atmosphere were spun into a frightening frenzy. Ozone was being burned away by each second he hovered. Hovered, over the closest thing he had called a friend. With his true eyes he could see the full marks of his brother’s form upon the ground. If he had tear ducts, he would have kept crying.  
Michael looked down, suddenly realizing what he had done. Detroit was gone. Anything left was ruin. Slowly the rest of the state was succumbing to the effects of his presence. Was this a moment of weakness, or was he going to give up? He didn’t know. The angel shifted his wings again and tried to repair the damage to the vessel. It took far too much time, hours even. He was sidetracked, in emotional and great physical pain. He dropped back down to the ground, sealing his vicious light within the human form again.  
Michael took a breath, resting upon his knees once more. What had once been a cemetery was now blackened landscape. Totems for loved ones had been melted down, oozing over the black earth. Ash and dust swirled around him as he bent over his brother’s form. He reached out and cradled the head of his brother’s body, asking why to a Father who had not spoken to him in literal eons. He felt, disowned. After all a true father would come when his loyal son needed him most, who needed some form of comfort during such a terrible time in his life…Or was this to make Michael stronger? Was this just one more test?  
The angel felt the earth beneath him tremble. His moment, his lapse in control had done untold damage to the earth. Yes, the end of the world was coming and it was his fault. He knew, in a matter of hours, one of the largest volcanoes upon earth was going to erupt. His fault. He couldn’t care. He was tired of trying. Michael was tired of fighting, tired of the work, tired of the hovering cloud of duty. He only wished to rest, to forget all of this. If only he could have scrubbed his memories clean, but each one was branded into him. There was no running away from these memories, no end to the pain.  
“Was this all a part of your design?” he whispered, voice cracking into Enochian.  
He felt the earth shudder as earthquakes resonated under his knees. He could feel them…He could feel the humans dying. Concept of time evaded him now. Still, he stayed by his brother’s side, never letting the grasp of decay take old of the body. No sibling came to his aid. No soul was in sight. He cradled the corpse with the most gentle of touches, as if he was afraid his hands would crush the form into dust. He knew he could, but this was the last remnants of his brother. This body was the only thing left.  
For once, he did not know what to do. Croats passed him, burned away if they got too close to Lucifer’s resting place. He knew now what his brother felt; what he had done to him. Michael knew that he could never go home. Not after the damage he caused. He had destroyed so much…He had done so much to get to this point and after that – there was no guidance. There was no word, no rule, and no law to be followed. No, there would be no rest for him; he knew if he returned to Heaven he would have to continue to try and rule it. There would be no peace, not with this memory. Lucifer may have fallen to his blade…but his younger brother had won.  
“I bet you would find all of this quite funny,” he said with a weak smile. “In some way…” he said as he reached down deep, deep within his form. Michael shut his eyes and pulled his grace out, pressing it into the blade of his sword. His last act as an angel was to give his brother the most terrifyingly beautiful memorial marker.  
Weakened, tired. He rested on his hands and knees as mortality seeped into his veins. He turned and sat down beside the forming tree; one that mimicked the first trees in Eden – the one the snake had coiled around to speak to Eve. He found it, fitting. Michael rested against the bark and took slow and steady breaths as the tears finally could come freely. He shut his eyes as he pressed his spine to the bark, feeling the tree continue to twist and grow as the grace took hold of the plant life. The tree branches drooped down slightly over time, shading him from the harsh light of the sun. With the ozone gone he could feel the human skin start to burn and blister. Strange, it was to him, to really feel the effects of heat. Usually it was he that caused the burning.  
“Let me rest, brother,” he said as he placed Lucifer’s head into his lap. “Let me go with you. I am tired. I have been so alone…Surrounded by siblings that were more soldier than friend…They were never like you. Oh I wished….How many times I wished I could have visited you in the Pit. How many times had I prayed to you, wishing that you would hear…” he said, stroking the stiff hair of the dead.  
“I am so sorry; for being a horrible brother, for ignoring your time of need, for not listening to you…I am sorry for everything,” he said bitterly. His regret was deep, deeper than any ocean, or any black hole. He shut his eyes, resting against the tree. He stayed there, feeling the burning sword be accepted within the tree itself, fueling its strange growth.  
He rested there for days on end, burned by the sun, whipped by the desolate winds that swept through the barren landscape. He made no move to acquire nourishment or water. Dehydration was setting in and he could have swore he heard Lucifer’s voice ringing in his ears; loving and understanding, mixed with the proper amount of sarcasm that he had perfected into both a science and an art. He smiled as he listened to the voice that really wasn’t there, or was it. His mind was so blurred with damned emotion; pain. There was so much pain, so much weariness.  
“Maybe now, we can both rest,” he said with a hopeful sigh, a sad smile painted his lips.  
His hands curled through the hair once more. His lungs shuddering as the body started to shut down, giving out. Michael was dying. Still, he expected his Father to step in. Months had passed, literal months had passed sense the day of his brother’s demise. Maybe it was the lingering angelic power in his mortal form that would not let go. He should have been dead long ago, or insanity for the lack of sleep should have addled his brain. Somehow…he remained there.  
He looked up as he watched a cloud of smoke hover in the air. Yellowstone had erupted, and the poisonous ash was drifting his way. It would suffocate him, but really, it wasn’t as bad as the suffocation he felt for what he had done. He had been smothered by his work for so long. The cloud of his destiny had hung over his head, ever sense he knew what the end game was. Somehow, some way, he moved his weak frame and plucked Lucifer closer. He rested his brother’s limp head against his chest. Michael bent his head down, kissing the hair that was scattered with dried blood.  
“Forgive me,” Michael breathed through chapped lips to God, to Lucifer, to the rest of his siblings, and to the human race. He knew not whether they would survive this. Even in death, he had hope. Michael rested his head against the cold corpse and shut his eyes for the last time. With a shuddering sigh, the last of the archangels faded from existence.


End file.
